“Easy with her,” the man tells me. It isn’t hard to see he cares for her by how he looks at her.
She opens her eyes a bit at the sound of his voice.
“Fletcher,” she says.
“I’m here, Scout,” he says. “You’re gonna be okay.”
“I’ll take some of that joint now,” she smirks. Her eyes close again, and her head lolls to the side.
“Sorry, doll,” he says, even though she probably can’t hear him. “I’m all out.”
She closes her eyes again as we carry her through the doors of the welcome center.
“What happened to her?” I ask Fletcher.
“More than you can imagine,” is all he says in response.
We get everyone inside the lobby and sit in the hot shade. I help bring Scout over to a bench and set her down. Then I step away from the group and take a minute to hang back by the door and get another look at all of them. I’d been so shocked when Claire recognized the doctor, that I hadn’t paid a whole lot of attention to the rest of these people, but now I’m trying to get a feel for who the hell they might be and how they all could have possibly ended up together. It’s about the most ragtag looking group of people imaginable.
The half-naked doctor with his unruly gray hair and taped glasses sits next to Claire who seems to hang on every word he says. A little kid in a Captain America backpack clings to his dad and watches over Scout while a short, bulky gal with auburn hair treats her injuries.
Across the lobby from the rest of us, a young blonde girl with cold, jaded eyes sulks by herself on a bench. Something about her catches my attention. I can’t help looking at her. She seems like an outsider, keeping her distance from the rest of them. When she turns her head and looks at me, our eyes lock for a moment until I overhear my name.
I turn to see Fletcher, Blake, Hoff and that brunette having a discussion on the other side of the room. They watch me lingering by the doors for a moment, and then they approach me. I shift my weight from one foot to the other.
“Hey,” says Blake. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I tell him. He seems harmless enough. Kind of like some dorky history professor or something, but not like anyone I’d especially like to talk to right now.
“Take it easy, kid,” says Fletcher.
“I’m fine,” I tell him.
“You don’t look fine,” he says. “Looks like—”
“It’s been a rough day,” I tell him without bothering to hide my annoyance.
“Why don’t you sit down with us?” the brunette says.
“I think I’m okay where I am, Miss,” I say to her.
“Danielle,” she corrects me.
“Let me have a word alone with him,” Hoff tells the rest of them.
The group leaves us alone, and Hoff puts one of his big hands on my shoulder, turns me around, and walks me outside.
“I realize you’ve probably been through the wringer out here,” Hoff says. “But I just need to know if you’re good.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Good,” he says. “I know it will be hard, but you can trust these people. They are some of the good ones, and lord knows there aren’t enough of those left now.”
I nod my head in agreement. This guy seems like somebody I can relate to.
“In the meantime,” he says. “How about you just give me a rundown of the situation out here as much as you can. Can you do that?”
“Yeah, sure,” I agree.
“Okay then,” Hoff says.
I lay it all out for him. I tell him what happened in El Paso, about the Air Force and the Army and how Holloman was overrun. Then I tell him about the countless dead in Alamogordo and finally about Jenson, Will, Sarge and Mac. By the end, I’m choking back tears and trying not to completely lose it.
“You did good, though,” Hoff says. “You kept that redhead alive. That’s a miracle right there. We get this turned around, and you’ll be a hero when it’s all over.”
I know he’s trying to make me feel better, and it almost does. We head back inside and they share some of the MRE’s they have with us. While we eat, they tell their stories. They talk about Chicago, the CIA agent that was with them named Lorento, and about some conflict they had with a militia in Missouri. They get quiet when they talk about the friends that they lost, but seem mostly to be relieved to finally be here, which does surprise me. They only feel relieved because they don’t know just how bad it is here yet.
The only one that doesn’t really talk much is the blonde girl. As the sun sets and we sit in the darkness around a lantern, I can’t help but steal a glance at her from time to time. During one such moment, she turns and our eyes meet again before she quickly looks away. She avoids looking my way after that, and I feel like maybe I scared her a bit. Women have never exactly made much sense to me.
I stay awake most of the night. Everyone else is tired, but Claire and I had weeks to rest at the house. Besides, after losing Mac yesterday, I doubt I will sleep very well.
So, I convince Hoff that I can take watch while the rest of them catch up on some sleep. After our talk, he seems to trust me, and the two of us have quickly developed a mutual respect for each other.
As much as I can’t help but like the guy, part of me does not want to get to know anyone now. It is just a matter of time before they are going to end up dead.
Twenty-seven
Early in the morning, we load everyone back in the vehicles and get ready to leave. I’ve been up for a full day now, but I still probably feel a lot better than most of these new people. They smell. Their clothes are filthy and torn. Every single one of them looks exhausted. They manage, though.
Even that woman, Scout, with her face all beaten and one of her eyes swollen shut, manages to get back on her feet, limp out to the pickup, and climb in alongside the redheaded guy and his kid. He keeps trying to help her but mostly just ends up pissing her off until she snaps at him and shoves him away.
I get in the pickup truck with Claire in the passenger seat beside me. As she pulls her hair back into a ponytail, I get the urge to apologize for how hostile I’ve been since we left the house, but I struggle to find the words. Finally, she looks back over at me. I can tell she is not exactly happy with me still. Instead of trying to be the nice guy, I just stick the keys in the ignition and start the engine.
“What is it?” she asks me.
“What?” I say.
“You look like you wanted to tell me something,” she says.
The accusatory tone of her voice makes me glad I didn’t apologize.
“Let’s go,” Fletcher says. He lifts the dog into the truck bed and then climbs in along with Blake. Once the two men are ready, Fletcher bangs on the hood of the pickup to urge me to move.
“When I got something to say to you, you’ll know about it,” I say to Claire as I shift the truck into gear and drive toward the highway.
“Chase,” she says. “I don’t know what I did—”
“You didn’t do anything,” I insist.
“Then why are you being like—”
“Fuck!” I curse. “I’m trying to drive. Will you just shut the fuck up?”
I glance back and notice the dad covering the ears of his little kid with his hands. Then I get mad at myself for losing my shit.
“Is there a problem?” the man asks me.
“Just mind your own business, pal,” I tell him.
He starts to say something, but Scout talks over him.
“Steven,” Scout says to him. “Just stay out of it.”
In the rearview mirror, I notice her putting a pair of sunglasses over her black eyes.
“He’s never learned when to shut up,” Scout mumbles through her swollen cheeks.
He gives her a wounded look, but she just turns and stares out the window.
“This is going to be fun,” she mutters. “I can tell already.”
Steven slumps down in his seat and watches the road out the other w
indow.
I steer the truck onto the highway and drive back toward Holloman. The dead swarm the roads. It seems like there are even more of them now than yesterday. Maybe our trip down the highway drew them out.
Blake and Fletcher fire at the dead as they get close to our vehicles. It keeps enough of the corpses off of us so that we don’t get too bogged down. Once we make it through Holloman, the road clears up a bit and I continue our drive toward Alamogordo.
“You weren’t kidding,” Blake yells through the back window of the truck, as he loads a fresh mag into his rifle. “There really are a lot of those things here.”
“Shouldn’t be as bad once we get through town,” I say.
At least I hope it won’t be that bad. I loosen my grip on the steering wheel and navigate through the corpses and abandoned cars on the highway.
We reach the trailer parks and junkyards along the outskirts of Alamogordo a few minutes later. I keep an eye out for any remnants of the Army while I drive, but it takes all my concentration to avoid crashing the truck into the abandoned cars or the clusters of the dead in the streets.
“Keep an eye out,” I say to Claire.
“For what?” Scout asks.
“Trouble,” I say.
“What kind of trouble are we talking about here?” Steven asks.
“Military,” I say. “Well, ex-military. They’re more like soldiers of fortune these days.”
“Great,” Scout sighs. “More assholes. Everywhere I go. I’m beginning to think I’m cursed.”
“Better get used to it,” I say.
She brushes her hair out of her face with her fingers, and then she reaches down to her bag and pulls out a Glock and loads a mag.
“I know we just met,” she says. “But you’ll find out soon enough. I’m kind of an expert in dealing with assholes by now.”
Ugly as she might be right now, I have to say this gal is growing on me already. I can’t help but smirk at her cocky attitude.
“Just make sure you don’t turn into one of them,” she warns me.
I turn my gaze back to the road and swerve between a toppled shopping cart and a pair of dead bodies in a heap on the ground. We reach the entrance to the expressway that runs north toward Los Alamos, and I make the turn on to the ramp. I get a bad feeling as I merge into the road. The last time I was on this highway, most of my team ended up dead.
My nerves settle by the time we leave the small town and cruise along the mostly empty highway. For the next hour, we continue north and enjoy the air conditioning in the pickup as we drive beneath the scorching sun. It helps to calm me down.
I learned in boot camp, and then witnessed on deployment in the Middle East, that hotter temperatures or climates can impact your ability to think, especially in stressful situations. Just being in a nice cool car makes me feel better than I have in a long time. I even look over at Claire because I feel bad for snapping on her earlier. Though, I still can’t bring myself to say I am sorry to her. When she turns her head and looks back at me, I give her an apologetic smile.
We’ve been through too much together. She is my oldest friend in the world now. The only person that knows anything about me. That has to be worth something.
A flash in the mirror catches my eye, and I notice Hoff flashing the headlights of the SUV behind me. I keep an eye on them for a minute, and then I notice the pattern.
Two long flashes and a short flash.
A short flash and a long flash.
Three short flashes.
Gas. He needs to refuel.
I hold the break down lightly with my foot to acknowledge him and he stops flashing his lights. Our chances of finding a gas station with a working pump are pretty slim, so we will probably have to syphon some fuel from another vehicle. Hopefully he has enough to make it to the next town, because any cars abandoned along the way are most likely there because they ran out of gas.
No one in their right mind gets out of a working car and walks in the middle of the desert unless they have no other choice.
We come to a place called Corona a few miles later, and I pull into a gas station at the edge of town. I park the pickup next to one of the pumps, and Hoff pulls up to the fueling station behind me.
I get out and take a look around.
The streets seem empty and quiet. It might seem like the place is completely abandoned, if not for a pair of dead bodies wandering outside a restaurant up the road. Blake gets out and tries the pump, but gets no juice from it.
“I’ll go check and see if they have a generator,” Fletcher says after he hops down from the truck.
“You need a hand?” Blake says as Fletcher jogs up to the door.
“Nah, I got it,” Fletcher waves, and then he cups a hand to the glass, peers through the windows, and heads inside.
“Ugh,” Scout groans in the backseat.
“You have to pee again, don’t you?” Steven says.
“Shut up, Steven,” she says. She opens the door, gets out, and limps toward the entrance.
“She has to pee,” Steven smirks. “Every time we are on the road. Every single time. It’s like clockwork.”
He finds it pretty amusing, but I just turn around and scan the streets again. Fletcher opens the door on his way back out and holds it for Scout. He watches her limp inside and then calls back to us.
“They got a generator but she’s dry,” Fletcher says.
“I can pull some gas out of the truck,” Hoff says.
“There’s a hose in my bag,” Fletcher tells him. “Just don’t be playing around with it. I don’t usually let guys touch my hose, but I’ll make an exception for you, big guy.”
“Go find me a gas can you goddamn degenerate,” Hoff yells at him. “And a pair of sunglasses. The good kind. None of that hideous aviator shit.”
Fletcher disappears back inside the shop. Beneath his golden beard, Hoff grins as he shakes his head and walks over to the pickup. He retrieves the hose and then slides it in to the open gas tank.
“Fletcher, will get on your nerves from time to time,” Hoff warns me while holding the end of the hose in his hand. “But he’s mostly harmless.”
“Unless you’re a female,” Blake adds.
He smirks but then he looks at my unamused expression and thinks about what he said.
“I didn’t mean you are a female,” he explains. “I just meant he’s only dangerous—”
“I knew what you meant, smart guy,” I say.
“Sorry,” he stammers. “Just clarifying.”
Fletcher comes back out with a gas can and hands it to Hoff. Hoff sets it on the ground and prepares to fill it up with the gas from the truck.
“Don’t tease me big guy. Put it in there,” Fletcher says. “I ain’t got all day.”
Hoff just ignores him and begins to suck on the hose. He coughs on the fumes but gets enough suction to get gasoline flowing.
I glance back over my shoulder and notice the corpses from the restaurant are closing in on the station. A couple of stiffs emerge near an intersection further up the block.
“Let’s move this along guys,” I urge them. “Looks like we’re starting to attract the attention of the locals.”
As soon as I say it, the door to the restaurant crashes open and more of the dead pour out into the street.
“Hold them off, Chase,” Fletcher says.
“I got them,” I tell him. I crouch into a shooting position and take aim at the dead. “Just hurry the fuck up.”
I can’t hear if he answers due to the report of the rifle after I pull the trigger.
Even though this town can’t have more than a couple hundred people in it, the dead always seem to know when you’re least prepared. We got two vehicles in need of fuel, and I’m the only one with any actual training that is not dicking around with gasoline right now.
Blake opens fire from the bed of the truck as well, but it is pretty obvious he can’t shoot for shit. I almost want to turn around and tell him to jus
t save the goddamn bullets instead of wasting them.
The closest pair of corpses fall to the ground, as I methodically take aim and work my way toward the back of the pack. At first, I think I have it under control, but then more of them appear from the neighborhood behind the gas station.
“Look out,” Scout yells from the truck. She pushes open her door and takes up a firing position next to me. Steven covers his kid in the backseat, using his body like a shield.
I reposition myself and focus on the ten or twelve of them coming around the building. The blonde girl gets out of the SUV and runs over to help Blake and Scout hold off the crowd from the street.
Fletcher finally gets the generator going and switches on the pumps. As soon as Hoff spots him sprinting out the door of the shop, he turns and grabs the nozzle off the pump. He starts filling the truck and then runs over to the SUV.
“Better move fast,” I urge him. With all the shooting, we are likely to draw out every stiff for miles, and even with most of us laying down fire, the dead steadily close in around us.
I’m honestly mostly terrified that one of these idiots is going to shoot a gas pump on accident and blow us all up. Most of them have zero training. It’s amazing that any of them have survived this long.
I kill another one of the stiffs coming around the building, but then my mag runs black with the last one shambling right towards me. I fumble with the rifle as I eject the magazine and grab a fresh one from my pocket. No matter how much I’ve worked on it, I’m still a couple seconds slower than I used to be when I had two good hands.
I start to panic as I sense the dead woman closing in. By the time I slap a fresh mag home, the old hag wearing a straw sunhat is just a few feet away from me. I raise my rifle up to get a shot off before she can fall on me, but before I squeeze the trigger, her head snaps to the side and sends her stupid fucking hat flying off her head. The rotting woman collapses on the ground beside me.
I glance back to see Hoff standing in front of the SUV. He takes aim at the dead while the pumps fill the gas tanks. He may have just saved my ass.
I’m about to turn around and start shooting again when I notice movement between the pump and the SUV.
ROTD (Book 3): Rage of the Dead Page 17